


Even Men Like Us (May Falter)

by Hanna



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M, Thor is a slave, dub-con, dub-con in the sense that Thor fights his attraction to Loki and nothing else, slave AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanna/pseuds/Hanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor is a Briton slave; Loki is his Roman master.</p>
<p>Written for an art collab with griseldajane, whose artwork is linked below.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Men Like Us (May Falter)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Book_Wyrm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_Wyrm/gifts).



> Griseldajane's artwork: http://griseldajane.tumblr.com/post/50042287020/the-collaborative-project-series-one-please-take
> 
> griseldajane's tumblr: http://griseldajane.tumblr.com/
> 
> My tumblr: fiftyshadesofthor.tumblr.com
> 
> Edited by Book_Wyrm.

Times were hard in Rome; business was poor, and many wealthy men were finding themselves struggling to support their lavish lifestyles. One of these men was Loki Laufeyson.

He was a citizen of Rome, born in one of the outer provinces, and as a young man had moved to Rome. Not of the higher classes he fought his way to the top of the business world and had established a shipping empire that made him rich, richer than anyone from the provinces he’d known.

But raiders were attacking the sea and shipping wasn’t profitable as long as the danger remained, and so he was forced to turn to other avenues to maintain his income.

Which brought him here, to the slave market, looking for a gladiator.

He knew the money they could bring in, and he had enough assets left to purchase well so he wouldn’t have to start from scratch. He’d observed gladiator training in preparation for this, looked at the builds and types of gladiators, and knew what he was looking for.

He had not found it yet, and though he knew he could not afford to be picky, he didn’t want to waste his coin. He looked at tall men, strong men, skinny men, fast men, but none of them had the spirit in their eyes he wanted, the spirit to make it in the arena.

He found the Briton in a corner of the market, bound tightly; hair matted, covered in bruises and welts, a feral glint in his startlingly blue eyes, and knew he wanted him. He went to him, forced his head up by pulling on his hair, and the man spat at him.

“Your name, Briton?” he asked, and in reply he pulled at his chains and spat again. Loki beamed.

“I want this one,” he announced and did not miss the shock and anger in his eyes.

“Sir, he is wild,” the vendor said. “I wouldn’t waste my coin if I were you.” He took a step closer to him, narrowing his eyes, and the man quailed.

“I said,” he said, “I want this one. How much do you want for him?” The vendor quailed under his glare and the price he named was very low. Loki smiled broadly.

“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll be back for him once I’ve got transport.” He returned to his purchase, gripped his chin firmly so he could not twist his head or bite him as he examined him more closely. He had broad shoulders and a warrior’s frame, though he had wasted. A little food would take care of that. His hands were manacled behind his back and his fists were clenched as hatred burned in his eyes.

“Am I  _satisfactory_ , Roman?” he spat in heavily accented Latin, and Loki laughed, dropped his head and evaded the expected bite.

“Oh, yes,” he said, showing teeth in his smile, and walked away.

He had to prepare his home to break a slave now.

XX

He returned the next day with a horse, knowing the Briton would not simply submit to him, would not walk behind him willingly; that was, after all, why he’d bought him. The spirit in his eyes was what he wanted, the spirit his snarling, spitting purchase showed. The vendor was happy about getting rid of him, but did not seem too keen to assure him that if he had any problems he could just contact him and he’d take him back and refund him. He seemed most put out at having to say it. The Briton laughed harshly.

“So keen to get rid of me, Roman?” he sneered. “Shouldn’t have bought me in the first place then.” The vendor grabbed his whip; the Briton just laughed. The sound died when Loki stepped in, raised a hand.

“Do not strike him,” he said. “He is mine to punish.” His voice was quietly commanding, and the Briton looked warily at him, uncertain now, and Loki could have laughed. He chained him to the back of the horse and mounted, turning in his seat on the saddle.

“Understand this, Briton,” he said. “I will be trotting; you will be able to keep up. If you tarry, or if you try to harm me or my horse in any way, I will speed up and drag you home.” The man lifted his chin defiantly.

“Then I will be useless to you,” he said, and Loki chuckled.

“You weren’t much anyway,” he shrugged, and did not miss the anger flaring to life in the man’s eyes. So that was a soft spot; Loki did not know whether the price or the fact he was sold was the tender area, but he would find out. “If you die it’s not too much of a waste of money and I know I chose wrong.” The Briton was trembling with fury, took a single step forwards.

“I am not an object for your pleasure, Roman!” he snarled, his words breaking into incoherent trails of a language he did not understand, and Loki smiled broadly. This one was a warrior; it was in the proud lines of his face, the long, dirty hair that fell about his shoulders. Loki dismounted and walked up to him from behind, gripping a few strands of it, and he froze for a second before wrenching it from his grasp.

The first thing he would do would be to wash it; then he would cut it just short enough that the Briton would feel what he was missing.

“Yes,” he said, tugging hard on his hair, standing close behind him, holding him so he wasn’t able to twist to face him, “You are.” Then he hopped onto his horse again and took off at a smooth trot. The Briton tried hard to stay where he was but was pulled forward and stumbled along after him, fury in his every line, and Loki revelled in it. He held his head higher as they went further, to Loki’s villa, people hardly paying attention to them, Loki glancing back every now and again at his slave.

He was panting harshly, clearly struggling to keep up with the horse as he nudged it into a canter, and Loki smiled to see the humiliation written clearly upon his face, the way he was closed and pinched, refusing to show his weakness but unable to hide it. So he did not like being paraded. Loki filed it away.

When they arrived he took the Briton right into the stable before dismounting. He removed his binds from the horse and curled them around his wrist, keeping the Briton at a distance with a sharp look. It was clear he was loathe to obey it, and when he stepped forward Loki tugged sharply at the chains in his hand, twisting them behind him fast, and sent him pitching to the ground before he knelt atop him and pinned him there, struggling and snarling.

“You have a choice,” he said succinctly as he curled his fingers through the collar about his neck, yanking it back and forcing him to gasp for breath. “You can cooperate and stay inside. Or you can fight me and I will keep you here, chained on all fours as a beast in a stall.” He waited; the Briton hesitated a moment before he tried to twist under him, to pin him instead, grunting with effort.

“Never,” he snarled. Loki shrugged and climbed off his back. When he rolled over and tried to strike him he kicked him sharply in the gut and winded him, leaving him to gasp and wheeze for breath on the floor as he fetched a harness.

“This is for a horse,” he said. “But if you’re to be difficult, I will put it on you.” The Briton’s feral blue eyes darted over it. “But that’ll wait. For now,” he said, kicked a stall door open and pulled the struggling man inside, “I’ll just keep you here as is. No blanket, no nothing. You have straw; if you can reach it.” He chained him cruelly to the stall wall and deliberately pushed the straw to the other side of the stall. He tightened the chains holding his hands behind his back and fetched a bit, forcing it between his teeth, which caught his fingers several times in the process. He gasped as it was yanked painfully back, forcing his mouth open, and tried to spit at him but was unable to as it was tied behind his head, over his hair. Loki caught at his hair and pulled, sharply, forcing his head back, forcing him to bare his throat.

“I will cut this,” he promised, and the garbled series of syllables the Briton forced past the bit weren’t Latin at all.

He left the stall and shut the door securely.

“Oh,” he added, turning back to those loathing blue eyes, “it gets rather cold at night.”

Curling up under his thick blanket, he sighed in contentment and thought of the Briton. He laughed.

XX

The next morning the Briton was huddled close to the stall wall, making himself as small as possible, his teeth chattering, covered in goose bumps, shivering uncontrollably. He tried to uncurl when Loki approached but could not manage it. Shame bloomed in his cheeks but he did not drop his eyes.

“Good night?” Loki asked cheerfully as the Briton glared at him with utmost hatred. “How would you like that bit out?” The Briton set his jaw as best he could around the metal that pinned his tongue. Loki waited. “I won’t until you ask. Nod, rather,” he added slyly, and the force of the glare redoubled. “Just nod, one nod, and I’ll take it out.” Still the Briton held himself high. Loki shrugged.

“Then I have a one way conversation,” he said. “Now, why I bought you; you will fight in the arena for me, willingly, as my gladiator.” The Briton shook his head violently, garbled syllables falling from his mouth, unrecognisable even if he had known his language. He disregarded them. “You will. You will fight for me; you will die for me if I ask it of you.” Another head shake; his hair flew everywhere.

“You will,” Loki promised and stroked his back. The Briton turned as much as he could but wasn’t able to twist to bite him the way he was tied. Loki ran his hands over his body, his broad shoulders, his arms, his thighs, his spine. “You’ll do very well, I think,” he said, pausing at his groin. The Briton yanked away from him. Loki laughed.

“Never mind. I have willing whores,” he said. He removed his hand. “I’ll leave you here for now,” he added. “Until you make your mind up.” Blue eyes burned into him as he turned away.

XX

“Well?” he asked the next morning when he brought a plate of food. “Do you want this?” By the hungry way the Briton’s eyes locked on the food he did, but he refused to nod. “Excellent, you’re stubborn,” he said, beaming. “That spirit will go so well in the arena.” The Briton glared at him, wrenching his eyes from the food. His mouth was watering. Loki waved it under his nose and his head followed it unconsciously.

“Well, look at that,” he said, laughing. When the Briton cursed, muffled by the bit but obvious by the tone, he yanked the plate back. “If you nod that you want this food, I will give it to you.” He held himself stubbornly still. Loki shrugged.

“As you will,” he said, left it on the other side of the stall and left.

XX

Day and again he came back to chat with more food. Finally he realised that the Briton was not going to break like this. He was too prideful. But his pride could be played off too. He brought him inside, struggling all the way, and bathed him before chaining him so his neck was straining forward to cut his now clean hair. It was thick and blonde. It was beautiful.

The instant the shears came out the man started to struggle, trying to make sounds through his bit.

“You want that off?” Loki asked and there was a long, tense moment before he nodded. “You won’t bite me?” He shook his head. Loki pulled it out cautiously and he hacked several coughs before he spoke.

“Not my hair, Roman,” he croaked, and the words were supposed to be defiant, Loki knew, but they came out a plea. The Briton realised too, by the way his whole body tightened.

“My name isn’t ‘Roman’,” Loki said. “And if you want me to keep from cutting it, you will call me Master.” The Briton worked his jaw for a long moment and finally snapped it shut in a thin line. Loki brought the scissors up, ran a hand through his blonde locks and positioned the scissors ready to cut them. He was tenser than ever but did not speak.

“Never,” he spat and Loki made the cut. The Briton held himself tense and watched silently as his hair fell about his feet, blue eyes darting towards it, but he did not allow himself a word.

When he was done, Loki pulled his fingers through the hair that was now to the Briton’s neck, falling to his earlobes, and saw a single tear slide down the man’s cheek.

“What’s your name?” Loki asked later that day, and the man spat at him.

“Go to hell,” he snarled, and Loki put him in the stable again.

XX

“What’s your name?” Loki asked again two days later. The Briton did not answer him, but he didn’t spit at him either- though that might have being the cold.

XX

“You want to come inside?” Loki asked on the coldest night yet when the man was curled into a corner, shivering desperately. “It’s warm. I have a fire, food…” The Briton couldn’t help the longing in his eyes as he held himself stiff.

“I have weathered cold before,” he said. Loki ran a finger down his spine, felt him shivering under him.

“Not like this,” he said, and his silence was as good as agreement. “So tell me, do you want to come inside?”

He remained silent.

XX

Loki waited two days to come out again, wrapped himself warmly to taunt the Briton, though he did not need the warmth.

The Briton’s head was bowed when he arrived, though it lifted when he heard his footsteps, and despair was evident in the heaviness in his eyes and muscles.

“How about it then?” Loki asked and there was a long moment where he held himself tense, no pride in him, his short hair fluttering against his neck before he finally nodded.

XX

“What’s your name?” Loki asked and the Briton looked up at him. Several days had passed since he had come inside, Loki even allowing him a loincloth for his good behaviour. He blinked slowly at him for a long moment, heavy shame in his eyes.

“Thor,” he said, finally, and sighed heavily.

Loki beamed.

“Thor,” he said. “Well, Thor, this is an excellent start. It only took, oh…” he frowned. “Weeks to get that out of you.” He shook his head. “You are my slave,” he said, narrowing his eyes at him, moving right into his space and grasping his short hair, pulling cruelly on it. “And you will obey me. Understood?” Thor could not look away from him, his breath catching very slightly.

“Understood?” Loki repeated, pulling him closer. Thor set his jaw for a long moment then finally jerked his head in a nod.

“Understood,” he ground out. Loki slapped him, hard, keeping a grip on his hair and he set his face against the pain, breathing through his nose for a second.

“Understood,  _Master_ ,” he hissed. Thor wanted to rebel, it was obvious. Wanted not to say it. His eyes flashed and he set them against Loki’s own.

“Understood, Master,” he said, and it sounded like defiance.

XX

His defiance earned Thor a brutal beating, which he did not flinch from. Loki was perversely pleased. Thor was to be his gladiator; it was good he didn’t shy at pain. Loki hadn’t thought he would, but having his suspicions confirmed was always nice. He prided himself on his judge of character, but it was good to  _see_ he was right. The spirit in Thor’s eyes had not died; the feral quality of it had faded, which he wanted, for feral he could not control; but he retained his spirit, even after the cutting of his hair, his pride.

He had to find another way. That way, it seemed, was humiliation. Loki still had friends (the number amounted to his two brothers and a select few he thought were unlikely to stab him in the back); he would invite them over while Thor had the bit in, reins attached, and invite them to pull him around. He snarled at Loki unintelligibly and fought it, burning with shame and fury, struggling hard as the guests made lewd suggestions.

“I know a way to knock that out of him,” one offered slyly, and Loki was pleased at the alarm on Thor’s face but turned him down, tucking the idea away for later.

“I might let him next time,” he murmured to Thor after the guests were gone. “In fact, I think I will. Or maybe I could, if you’d prefer that, hmm?”

The next time Thor did not fight the directions he was given, his lips pressed tight together, eyes flashing with familiar hatred, but he obeyed.

The first time Loki felt fond of the man it crept up on him, taking him entirely by surprise. Thor, wild eyed and resentfully obedient, spat at him and he found himself smiling.

“Oh, you,” he said, and thought that he’d miss his fight when he stopped. He did not care to examine the thought much further, and so did not; he did not know where it would lead but he could not forget that Thor was his slave.

He burned to know more about the Briton, what had made him, what would crack him open.

“Tell me about yourself,” Loki said abruptly one day and Thor looked up at him, opened his mouth to question him. Loki shot him a long, meaningful look and he subsided. “Tell me, Briton. Who were you before you were my toy?” Thor opened his mouth and closed it again.

“Chieftain’s son,” he said with a quiet, defeated sound that Loki revelled in. “I failed to find an honourable death on the battlefield.” Loki stroked his hair idly.

“Indeed,” he said. “There is little honour in what you are.” The barb struck deep; Thor opened his mouth to shout, protest, and then closed it again, his head drooping slightly. He exhaled a quiet, miserable breath and Loki took a moment to admire his hunched form before leaving the room. Thor was asleep when he returned and he woke him with a sharp kick to the ribs that had the Briton rolling over and automatically coming up into a fighting crouch, instantly awake.

“Oh, good,” he said, brightly. “I’m going to send you to gladiator training soon; you have to keep those reflexes up.” And from then on he proceeded to kick him awake whenever he fell asleep.

The sheer misery in his eyes made it all worth it, but the fighting spirit, though it dimmed, never quite died, especially as Loki cultivated it by stoking his anger carefully. And his rage was beautiful.

Once during a beating Loki demanded to know about Thor’s father. Between harsh gasps for breath Thor told him that his father would gut him where he stood, no questions.

“And had you a sword?” Loki asked idly as he cracked the whip above Thor’s back. He did not flinch but his face closed off, his eyes might as well have been dead for all the life they showed. There was a long pause.

“I would do no different,” Thor finally said but Loki did not believe him.

The greatest indignity, his breaking point, however, was yet to come; the time Loki caught him staring at him as if unable to figure out something. His eyes were questioning, ashamed, his mouth set in a firm line, and Loki moved closer. He turned away sharply as soon as he realised Loki was watching him but Loki put a hand on his back, lightly, and lifted it off. The way he rose to chase the touch was unmistakeable.

“I see,” Loki said softly, and he flushed scarlet, refused to look at him, looking more miserable than ever.

He could no longer look Loki in the eye, instead preferring to train his gaze on his chest, and Loki made a point to touch him more often during a day, revelling in the self-loathing every inch of the Briton showed, and his punishment became withholding the contact. It was surprisingly effective.

As it turned out, Thor was not above pleading.

“You have robbed me of all I have, Roman,” he said one day, voice broken. “No more; I beg of you.”

“What did you call me?” he asked, leaning over, very close to his face, and Thor did not turn away, lifting his face higher, needing the proximity.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, struggling with the words visibly. “I’m sorry… Master.” Loki released his sharp grip and Thor relaxed as he stepped back.

“That’s better,” he said, satisfied, and Thor sucked in a deep, shuddering breath and slumped against the tiles below him. Loki could practically see what he was thinking, but he wanted to hear it.

“Tell me what you are thinking,” he ordered. Thor focused dully on him.

“I have nothing,” he said. “Nothing but you. Nothing but this.” His eyes slid closed and his head rolled to the side despondently. “I cannot even fight.” Loki smiled broadly.

“I can fix that,” he said, and Thor frowned.

“You-” he cut himself off with a sharp jerk of his head. Loki patted the back of his hand.

“It’s time to send you to gladiator school,” he said, and Thor almost smiled.

XX

He spent a lot of time exercising and going through his drills to get his strength back up. Loki let him sleep all night and fed him well, and he hated himself for appreciating it. But this was his chance to do something he knew he could do; he might even earn his freedom from it.

Sometimes he wondered what good freedom would be. His father was dead, his brother was dead, and his people were decimated. But he didn’t dwell on those thoughts. Freedom was what he’d been dreaming of so long, fighting for.

Fighting until Loki.

Other masters had beaten him black and blue but he hadn’t let them break him, not even close. And all Loki had to do was cut his hair and threaten to mount him like a woman? And increasingly he wanted it; to know what it felt like; wanted Loki to touch him, needed to feel his slim hand on his back or face. He spat, disgusted at himself, onto the ground. His father’s voice rang out in his memory, telling him to be strong and don’t let the Romans beat you; we will die with honour today.

He felt himself shaking, tears threatening to pool in his eyes, and viciously shut down on them. He would not shame himself further by weeping.

XX

When Loki ran a hand down his back he closed his eyes, and Loki could see how much he needed the touch, the way he relaxed into it, the way he tensed up as soon as he lifted his hand. The self-loathing never dimmed, only became brighter, as time passed, but Loki wasn’t bothered by that; indeed, it only served to make him more despondent, and more obedient.

He let him train with staffs and he took to it with a relish. He gave him proper clothes and the gratitude on his face was all the reward he needed. Watching him regain his muscle and prowess from the door, day after day, Loki felt the oddest stirrings in him; the man was undeniably attractive.

He surprised himself one day by wishing that he did not loathe him (and himself) as much and reminded himself that it was that very loathing that made him so obedient. Still, he gentled, giving him more, and soon his thanks were not coerced, he was thanking him of his own volition, and Loki felt himself smiling beyond his control.

He found, much to his surprise, and clearly to Thor’s, that Thor smiled too when he did, watched him more often, relaxed in his presence, and he put it down to a sense of security, of at least knowing the routine, but that didn’t stop him from sealing that smile in his memory. His slave was already a handsome man, but his smile made him beautiful.

XX

It was far from easy to even get into the gladiator training. The first thing they did was examine him all over and prod and poke and test his strength and fitness. Thor rigorously did everything they asked, determined to do what he had being trained to do his whole life; fight. Even if it was for the entertainment of the Roman people, he could do it.

“Not bad,” the man concluded. “Tell me, Briton, your experience.” Thor held himself at his full, considerable height.

“I am a warrior,” he said, then his eyes flickered to Loki, watching, and then the sandy ground. “I was a warrior,” he corrected himself, lips tightening with the truth of the words, “Of my tribe.”

“Hmm,” the man said. “And why are you here?” He indicated Loki to show that his meaning was in slavery.

“I failed to earn an honourable death in battle and allowed myself to be captured alive,” Thor said. The man, who appeared to be African in origin and had a patch over one eye, was silent for a moment and Thor could see understanding in his eyes.

“If you make it here,” he said suddenly, “You can regain your honour.” He looked him up and down, focusing on his broad shoulders. “I’m not sure how you Britons do it, but it’s a way.” Thor held his head slightly higher.

“Honour in battle,” he agreed, and saw, from the corner of his eye (it disturbed him how much he watched Loki, how well he knew his physical cues) that Loki was pleased, and this, perversely, pleased him. He felt his own smile and could not stop it.

_You will never regain your honour_ , a voice told him, and how well he knew that.  _Not while you desire the filthy Roman._

He knew beyond any shadow of doubt that his honour was irrevocably tainted.

XX

He was put in the barracks of the training gladiators and was glad, for a time, to be out of Loki’s house. The training was hard and he revelled in it, in every blow, every victory he made, in his bruises. He felt, for the first time since his capture, alive. It reminded him of his training with his father and brother, the other men of the village. It reminded him of his friends Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg, and the memory hurt.

These men, Steve, Bruce and Tony, were good company, as good as any he had found in Rome. Steve and Tony never got along, but Tony and Bruce did, talking about the weapons they used, the construction of them, and when they got going no one could understand them. It wasn’t a bad life, in all honestly.

And then he found himself missing Loki.

At first it was the regularity of life at Loki’s house, the routine he had learned, that he missed, but very soon he found himself missing Loki himself, the way he would read while stroking his hair, the way he would absently put a hand on his back or shoulder. He did not have any friendly contact here, not like that, and he told himself that was what he missed. Then he said to himself that he missed the food, the bed he had slept on; but soon all his excuses crumbled and the ache of missing Loki was a bright point of pain in his chest.

It took too long for the shame he lived with daily to manifest itself.

If he could just see Loki, he would be happy, he thought, and tried to wipe the thought away but it would not leave. He looked forward to his first fight, knowing Loki would be there, and wished that he was able to go back to Loki’s house but could not until his training was over.

He was a privately owned gladiator, and knew that meant his master could choose to house him with the others or at his house, and he hoped that he would choose to have him at this house. If he didn’t… he would be fine, he told himself. He did not need the Roman.

It became increasingly obvious to him that he did, and the shame he expected to attack him did less and less as the days passed. It ached dully in the background, as always, but when his thoughts turned to Loki, to how attractive the Roman was- for he was attractive, undeniably, with his pale skin, dark hair and bright green eyes- it was, more often than not, lust that came over Thor.

He should not want the Roman. Especially when he knew the only way he could have him was if he spread himself as a maiden; Loki would not allow him to take him. He should not have still wanted him, knowing that.

But he did, and his need burned in him constantly.

His training made him feel more alive than anything else, like a real warrior again, and he relished in every minute of it, especially when came the time to put on armour and wield real weapons.

Finally his first fight came around, and beforehand, while he was dressing in his armour (it felt good to have armour on again), Loki came in and he grinned broadly, reached out for him. Loki’s surprise was evident but he allowed Thor to hold him.

Shame bubbled up in him but he shoved it down. Long ago he had learned that shame was an emotion that merely distracted him from what he needed to do, that it served no purpose. Loki stroked his hair and he felt his breath leave him in a long sigh as tension leaked from him. He had missed that.

“You missed me?” Loki asked amused when he pulled away.

“Yes,” Thor said, reddening, and Loki smiled. He looked him up and down appraisingly and Thor’s chest was tight. Breath came harder to him and heat started at the base of his spine.

“You look good,” Loki said, and he did not, by force of will, look down as he flushed with pleasure. He would meet his eyes as a man would. So he did. “Now get out there. Be worth what I paid for you.” The twinkle in his eye made it clear he was teasing but the words still struck a chord with the little pride Thor had left. He felt his chest tighten as he turned back. Stupid of him. He was still a slave. He berated himself as he secured the last of his armour and headed past Loki to get his sword.

He was still a slave but he would, for at least this moment, this fight, be a warrior once more.

XX

The sun hit him like a wall, the sand, already flecked with blood, crunched beneath his feet and the cheering of the crowd as he looked up made him aware how staged this was; there was no honour to be found here. He glanced back at his gate and saw Loki on the other side, eyes intent, and straightened his shoulders.

He could not make his family proud; he would never see his family again, not be embraced at the ancestors’ table. But the very least he could do was fight well for Loki. The ache in his chest eased and he held his head high as he turned back to the arena and his opponent.

The man wielded a net and trident, and he could not see his face, but that did not matter. He didn’t need to see the face of his enemy. He ran through the trainer, Fury’s, tips, his father’s instructions, and held up his sword in guard position as they circled each other. The crowd faded away as his world narrowed to his opponent.

It was the other gladiator who made the first blow, striking with his trident, and Thor knocked it aside with his shield and darted in, making a counter attack while the trident was out the way. The gladiator dodged smoothly to the side and threw the net at him, which he deflected with his blade.

The sun reflected brightly off the armour of the other and Thor narrowed his eyes as they dodged and weaved, metal clanging off metal, for what felt like forever. His blood sang and adrenaline pumped through him. He was grinning; he could feel it, his blows enthusiastic. He had missed the high of combat.

He knew that the arena, though not his first choice of destination, was the best place to be to find excitement in Rome. Knew it from the first time he was given a staff and lined up against Steve for drills. Fighting was what he was born for.

Fury recognised this, gave him harder drills, extra training, and he had thrived on it. He was able to forget Loki, his shame, that he was a slave, when he was training, when he was fighting.

Slowly the roaring of the crowd came to him and he realised that he’d knocked the other gladiator to the ground and trapped him there by a foot on his stomach. His trident was on his right side beyond arms reach, his net farther away on his right. He lifted his sword and caught himself. This was not a battle, he reminded himself, not truly; this was entertainment. A sour taste filled his mouth but he still waited.

They turned their thumbs down and he set his sword aside, helped the other man to his feet, as his cuts and aches and bruises made themselves known. The other man had lost his helmet; he saw it was Steve. Blood trickled down the side of his mouth.

“Good fight,” Steve offered, and Thor grinned at him.

“Aye,” he said, and they headed into their doors. Loki was waiting for him and he felt himself flush as he smiled at him.

XX

His armour was off and cleaned (he insisted on doing it himself), as were his sword and shield, and Thor was suddenly exhausted. He sat back and took a long drink, cleaning his face with the extra water in the cup, and wanted a bath.

Soft, he thought. He was so used to being clean now. It hadn’t taken long to get used to the constant dirt coating his skin again, and it felt natural; but still, he would like to be clean. The water would soothe his aches as well. He sighed and looked up at Loki, who was watching him from the doorway.

“I earned money on you,” he said, holding up a bag of coins. “Betting. And the prize money.” Thor waited, chest tight for reasons he could not identify. Loki took a step towards him and sniffed the air. “You need a bath,” he said. Still Thor waited, hardly able to breathe. “I can’t imagine they’d have any decent facilities here.” Thor had to shake his head.

“No,” he muttered.

“So you’ll come back with me,” Loki said decisively and the knot in Thor’s chest loosened. He breathed again, a smile passing over his lips, and Loki smiled back.

XX

Loki watched him while he bathed and he could not hide his flush, hoping only to pass it off as the heat. Loki’s hungry gaze was sending heat crawling his spine and he could not stop himself from becoming half erect. He wanted to touch himself but-

No. He would not shame himself like this.

Loki clearly knew, his amused smile said that all too clearly, and Thor ducked his head, going scarlet.

“Ah,” Loki said, smirking, moving closer. “I see.” Thor cupped his hands about his cock, unable to help a sigh when his calloused palms brushed against it, and looked anywhere but at Loki. “You want me,” Loki said, and Thor looked down, unable to meet his eyes. Loki stepped closer and put slim hands on his shoulders. The contact made him jolt.

“Look at me,” he ordered and Thor lifted his eyes. He was trembling a little, and the force of the self-loathing in his gaze was expected, though still sad. “It is no shame to want this,” Loki said. Thor’s mouth worked soundlessly. “But if you don’t, tell me.”

Thor could not say anything. Loki removed his hands and he just let him as he smiled, ran a finger over his erection. His entire body jolted and a faint groan left Thor. His hips jerked up once and Loki smiled at him. He looked away until Loki grasped him harder.

“Eyes on me,” he said, and Thor, scarlet, turned his eyes back on him as he stroked him up and down, toyed with the vein on the underside of his cock. “You want this,” Loki breathed, transfixed by the sight of the big, proud man’s face twisting in pleasure, the groans leaving him, the way his chest was heaving. “You’re beautiful.”

Thor just nodded, panting open mouthed.

“Loki,” he rasped, voice wrecked, and Loki didn’t even care that he had used his name instead of calling him master- that had never caught on, in any case, and he did not expect it to. Besides, he quite liked the way his name left Thor’s lips, and increased the pace until Thor’s hips were jerking, his whole body shuddering, his back arching beautifully. “Loki, I need,” he said, dangerously close to a plea.

Loki kept teasing him. Thor was so close to shattering.

“Loki, please,” he gasped after he bent down and licked his slit, dripping precome, and Loki’s eyes flickered up to him.

“Then come,” he said, and Thor did, all over his own stomach, falling back against the tub after, eyes sliding closed, and Loki washed his hands in the water, leaned over him. Thor was relaxed yet tense, and that shame was creeping back into his partially open eyes.

“Do not be ashamed,” Loki told him, and stroked his cheek. But Thor couldn’t look at him.

XX

Thor couldn’t look Loki in the eye for days after and when he did, it was clear he had decided to try and ignore what had happened; Loki was starting to get frustrated with his pride. He trained as much as he could and did as he was told but didn’t interact with him as much, stepped away from his touch if he could, though when they were in the same room Loki could see the desire and shame warring within him.

He had had enough.

“Thor,” he said, and Thor turned to him, meeting his eyes briefly before they settled on the floor. “I don’t care what your father would have said,” Thor flushed and his lips tightened, “You are not a free man now. You are mine and I will not have you behave this way.” Thor didn’t say anything. “Do you understand me?”

Finally Thor nodded once.

“I understand,” he said, and Loki opened his mouth to correct him. “I understand, Master,” he muttered, stumbling over the unnatural word. It sounded almost like poison when he said it, which was why Loki rarely insisted on it being used. But sometimes enough was enough.

“Now come here,” he ordered, and Thor did. “Tell me- do you desire me?” Thor shifted on his feet, colour flooding his cheeks. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” he muttered to the floor.

“I said me, not the tiles,” Loki said firmly and Thor lifted his head what looked like reluctantly. “Do you desire me?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, and his shoulders slumped. “I do.” His voice was slightly hollow but stronger. Loki put a hand on his shoulder.

“Tonight, meet me in my chambers.” Thor could not help the way he trembled or his breathing quickened very slightly.

“Yes,” he murmured, something very close to desire in his voice. “I will.”

Loki did not push him to call him master.

XX

Thor was distracted through his training that day and, as night fell and he came inside, could not stop staring at Loki. A slave brought them dinner and Loki put a hand on Thor’s back after he finished eating.

“Well then, I’ll meet you in my chambers soon.” Thor fidgeted, his fingers twisting together.

“What should I,” he began, and coughed to cut himself off. “No, don’t-“

“Just wait for me,” Loki said. “We’ll deal with that later.” Gratefully, Thor nodded, rose and put his bowl down, heading down the corridor. Loki watched him go, appreciating the view. Ah, but he looked fine. He set his own bowl down.

“I expect not to be disturbed tonight,” he told the slave who collected them. She bobbed her head.

“Of course, Master.”

He followed Thor, found him sitting on the bed, and had never seen him look more lost and worried. He was perched on the edge, his fingers knotting together, and if possible he became even tenser when Loki entered. Loki fetched the pot of oil beside his bed.

“Take your tunic off,” he said, setting it down, and Thor clumsily took it off, hands shaking. “Relax. I’ll take it slow.” He looked Thor up and down and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Thor startled at the touch, breathing quickening, eyes darting up to Loki before he looked down again.

“You’ve never done this before.” It wasn’t a question, but Thor answered anyway.

“No,” he almost whispered. “It’s not-” he broke off.

“Not what?” Loki pressed.

“Right.” Loki had to strain to hear the word. He raised an eyebrow.

“Is it not?” he asked. Thor did not reply by gesture or word. “Am I wrong?” Thor looked up at him, opened his mouth and shut it again. “Yes, I have being where you are now, and I will be again. Do you mean to say that I am some sort of abomination?” Thor was shaking his head before he could think.

“To desire men,” Thor began and shook his head, took a deep shuddering breath. “No. Not here. It is not wrong here.” Loki smiled gently, touched his cheek, and Thor leaned into the touch.

“That’s right,” he said. “Here, it is not wrong to desire men- maybe you had other standards in Britain, but this is not Britain. You do not belong to Britain any longer.” Thor closed his eyes and when he opened them they were clearer.

“No,” he agreed, and it sounded like it broke his heart to say it. “I belong to you.”

Loki bent down and kissed him. He went rigid for a moment, startled, and then kissed him back, need practically pouring off him. When Loki pulled away he followed until Loki pushed him back with a hand on his shoulder and he steadied himself.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Loki shushed him and ran his hands up and down his chest, over his prominent muscles, sighing happily. He liked a well-muscled man. Thor squirmed under his touch, especially when he rubbed his nipples with his thumbs. His Adam’s apple bobbed repeatedly as he swallowed, his breath quickening, a lump starting to form in his pants.

“Loki,” he said, his voice higher than normal, and Loki smiled at him as his hands slipped down closer to his pants. He squirmed as his fingers darted under the waistband and then lifted his hands.

“On all fours,” he said, and Thor struggled to regain his thoughts and sat for a moment before he obeyed. “No, no.” Loki corrected his posture and slipped his pants down and off, prompting Thor to lift each leg so he could, and finally Thor was naked, half hard, looking deliciously uncertain. Loki rubbed down his spine and then dipped his fingers in oil, drizzling it lightly over his hole. Thor’s breath became quicker but he didn’t move, squirming as Loki’s fingers teased up his inner thighs, brushed past his cock, he made a noise at that and his hips shifted back for extra contact, and finally rested at his entrance.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, and slowly, slowly teased a single finger in, resting it just inside him, waiting for him to loosen up and let him in. It took several moments of gentle movement for him to be able to push in further and a few minutes to get the one finger in. He waited, then, for Thor to adjust before starting to slip it out and in again, circling inside him, making Thor squirm.

When he slipped the second finger in Thor didn’t immediately react, just held his breath, and Loki took it slow again. He scissored him, felt for the knob of nerves that made Thor gasp and push back, circled it, slowly fucking him with just his fingers. A third finger and Thor was breathing heavily, cock hard and heavy between his legs, matching Loki’s thrusts and clenching about his fingers.

“I think you’re ready,” Loki said softly and Thor twisted his head to look at him, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, and pulled his fingers out. Thor whined softly at the loss as Loki lathered himself up and rested his head at Thor’s thoroughly teased entrance.

“Ready?” he asked. Thor nodded, eagerness in his movements, and slowly he pushed in.

Thor was so tight. He gasped as he gently passed the ring of muscle, feeling Thor’s tight heat, needing more, and Thor was clenching around him, his gasps half-pained. He persisted in pushing, though, until he was fully seated, a little at a time, and then, panting himself, clutching at Thor’s back, nails raking down his sides, he rested. Thor’s rumbling breath slowly evened beneath him and he was starting to move slowly, breath catching as he did, a little whimper escaping him.

Loki only started to move a moment later, lifting out and thrusting back in, and it was on his fourth stroke that Thor cried out. He felt the bundle of nerves and thrust against it again. Thor made a helpless noise, jerking beneath him, cock dripping precome steadily, and Loki increased his pace.

Thor was starting to push back against him now, half-pleading breathlessly, clenching about him and Loki’s own breath rattled in his ears. He clutched harder to Thor, felt him shaking, felt himself shaking, and Thor was crying out softly on every push, clenching tighter.

“Loki,” he said, voice high, shaky. “Loki, I, Loki.” His name was a steady chant, a prayer and a curse, on his lips, and Loki moaned Thor’s name as his balls tightened.

And finally he was spilling in Thor, closing his eyes to savour the sensation, and he lay against Thor’s back after, feeling familiar lethargy creeping through his veins. Thor was still shifting beneath him, clenching around his now soft cock, and he pulled out. Thor whimpered.

“Ssh,” Loki murmured, turning him on his back and reaching down to grasp him. Thor gasped and his hips jerked into Loki’s hand. Loki began to stroke him steadily and it wasn’t long before he was spilling all over his own chest and slumping back to the bed himself, dazed.

“I,” he began, and Loki kissed him.

“Sleep,” he told him, and closed his own eyes.

XX

When Thor woke Loki was already awake, out of bed and dressed. He watched Thor as he blinked sleepily, turned against the pillows, then realised he wasn’t where he usually woke up. Alarm flared into life in his eyes and then memory entered them. Shame and guilt started to swallow him.

“No,” Loki said firmly. “You do not belong to your culture now. You belong to me. And this is what I want.” He opened his mouth, hovering somewhere between unhappiness and contented, shut it and then nodded.

“Now get up,” Loki said gentler. “You have to train today.”

Thor climbed out of bed and went into the bath.

XX

Days fell into a routine.

He trained during the day, Loki usually watching unless he had other business to attend to, ate during the evening and sat with Loki as he read, Loki even starting to teach him to read, and spent his nights in Loki’s bed. They fell comfortably into this, and as time passed that he spent in Rome (he did not know how long; it must have been a year, he thought, at least), he forgot the rhythms of his village, forgot his mother’s scolding, his brother’s cheerful smile, his father’s pride in him. Not entirely; part of him would always belong to that world of long ago; but it was easier not to remember.

And soon his next match was up. Loki accompanied him to the arena, helped him put his armour on, handed him his sword and shield and clapped him on the back.

“Go out and make me proud,” he said.

“I will,” Thor said, and headed into the blinding sun, blistering sands and cheering crowd.


End file.
